Samphire Song (8 page)

He is
, I’m thinking, as Samphire takes me on a fast trot round the field, as close to the wooden posts as he dares. Any moment now, he’ll scrape me off and make a run for it. He
is
a devil horse, after all. I’ve worked
twenty hours this week to pay for his food and stabling and this is how he repays me.

‘I’ll put the lunge rein on and see what happens,’ says Sue, approaching. Rambo is watching all this patiently, occasionally snorting into the warm afternoon air.

Samphire’s having none of it. He’s pressing me against the gate and I’m raising my right leg at forty-five degrees to avoid it being totally squashed.

‘I have an idea,’ says Rachel. ‘What if Jodie rides Rambo and shows Samphire what to do?’

‘It’s worth a try,’ agrees Sue, dropping the lunge rein on the ground. As she does so, my hyper animal seems to calm down. He lowers his head and breathes heavily, allowing me to pull my leg back. I dismount quickly, my head hot with frustration. My hair is clinging to my forehead under my hat.

‘Just walk away,’ says Sue. ‘Don’t look at him. Go straight to Rambo.’

Rachel has dismounted and gives me the reins. I swing up on to Rambo’s sturdy back, adjust the stirrups
and encourage my old friend into a lively walk, circling Sue. On her command, we trot and then ease into a controlled canter. Samphire watches, pawing the grass, his ears forwards and his gaze never leaving us.

‘He’s jealous,’ Sue calls to Rachel, who’s gone to sit on the fence. She nods and smiles.

After ten minutes of perfect schooling, shortening and lengthening strides, turning, manoeuvring, Rambo and I take a rest. I lean forwards and give him a carrot from my pocket. Sue approaches and pats his neck, fondly.

‘What shall I do now?’ I ask her. I’m still not making eye contact with the grey barbarian.

‘Let Rachel take Rambo back to the yard. We’ll see what Samphire’s like when there’s no competition,’ she replies. I think she would make a great horse psychologist.

‘I hope you’re free tonight, because I think you need pizza,’ says Rachel, approaching.

‘Yes please!’ I reply, my spirits lifting suddenly.
Rachel knows just what to do to improve a bad situation.

A few seconds later, we’re alone, Sue, Samphire and I. It’s like one of those Westerns, when everyone is braced, ready to go for their gun. Samphire is looking at Sue and me and making the strange grumbling noise through his nostrils.

‘Shall I call him?’ I ask. If I go to him, it’s telling him he’s won. Sue nods. I make my usual clicking sound, which signals I want him to approach. Nothing. I feel in my pocket for treats. They’ve all gone. This is getting stupid.

Then something really odd happens. Samphire starts to whinny and paw the ground at the same time. The piercing noise travels up and down in pitch, punctuated with snorts and shaking of his head.

‘He’s talking to you,’ says Sue, astonished. ‘I think he’s explaining why he’s been such a pain.’

‘It’s his song,’ I tell her. ‘He’s done it before, a bit. Nothing like this, though.’

‘He’s really getting something off his chest,’ Sue says. ‘I think it’s best if I leave you two to it. Don’t push things. He may have done enough for today.’

She turns and moves purposefully out of the ring, through the gate and out of sight. I know she’s just a shout away if I need her, which is reassuring. Samphire stops his noise and just breathes and snorts, swishing his tail.

‘That was quite a performance. Will you come now?’ I ask, tentatively, holding my palm towards him. I hold my breath as he lifts his left hoof, lets it dangle a moment, then places it down nearer to me. The right follows. He stretches his beautiful neck and sniffs the air around me.

‘All the way.’ Three strides later, his face is just in front of mine. He mouths his bit awkwardly, trying to spit it out. Suddenly, I feel guilty. It’s probably been a long time since he’s had to deal with metal in his mouth. When you think about it, it must be awful – something so hard champing at the soft flesh.

‘Good boy,’ I tell him, meaning it. ‘We’re going to try this one more time. OK?’

I prepare the reins and find the stirrup. If he runs amok this time, I’ll have to call Sue back. My body is tense from exertion. I mentally count to three and swing myself up and into the saddle. Samphire grunts and starts to move backwards very fast. This is an almost impossible feat for a horse – any dressage rider would think it was very clever. I don’t have time to find the other stirrup before he has pushed his backside into the fencing.

Nice one, Samphire. Now you’re going to rear up and dump me over into the field.

Surprisingly, this isn’t what happens next. When I urge him with my calves against his belly, he starts to walk forwards and when I draw my right rein in, he turns, elegantly. He’s responding to my commands and marking a circle and I want to shout with joy, but that would be ridiculous. We can’t both behave like divas. And there’s no audience.

It’s just me and him – and maybe that’s how he wanted it. I’ll always remember this as the special day he chose to tell me his story and let me hear the whole of his song. I would give anything to understand it.

Chapter Fourteen

I’m home, showered, dressed, made-up and ready to go in about half an hour flat. My bruised pride and aching muscles are fading from my mind. I was so proud of Samphire at the end of the training session, I can forgive him anything.

Ed threw a mock-strop when I told him I was going out for pizza without him. ‘Don’t worry about us, Stick,’ he’d said, leaning against Mum. ‘The favourite child will stay behind and take care of our mum.’

He’s such an idiot sometimes.

But secretly, I knew he was pleased that he and Mum are having an evening together. He has already got a stack of DVDs and snacks ready. As a special treat, he’s requested fish fingers, mash, peas and cheese sauce for dinner. Each to their own.

There’s a toot from the lane. Rachel’s arrived. Her dad is dropping us into town and collecting us later, our very own chauffeur. I’m running downstairs two at a time, not easy in ankle boots with heels. I glance in the full-length mirror on the wall in the hall as I pass. My jeans and cropped jacket are an improvement on my usual mucking-out clothes, I’m thinking. Mum and Ed are waiting by the front door.

‘You look very nice, darling,’ says Mum. She’s staring quite hard at my mascara, though.

‘You look very nice, darling,’ echoes Ed, air-kissing me.

‘Have a lovely time,’ adds Mum.

‘Don’t come back too early,’ says Ed, shooing me out of the door.

‘Charming,’ I say, messing up his hair as I leave.

Rachel has got out of the car and gives me a hug. She’s wearing jeans and a long, leather jacket. Her hair is down and almost reaches her waist. She looks totally different out of her stable clothes, too.

‘Hi,’ she says, excitedly. ‘You look great. And I hope you’re hungry,’ she adds. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Hi, Mr Holmes,’ I say to Rachel’s dad, as I get into the back seat. ‘Thanks for picking me up.’

‘Hello, Jodie,’ he replies. ‘You can call me Mark, you know. Rachel has been telling me that you’re a horse whisperer.’

‘Oh, not really.’ I’m trying not to blush. ‘I bought a horse at auction – he’s a bit of a handful. Rachel’s been brilliant, helping me with his training. I rode him today for the first time.’

‘That must have been great,’ says Mark. He’s looking at me in his rear-view mirror. I nod and smile.

‘It felt a bit like climbing Everest,’ I tell him, after thinking about it for a moment.

‘Samphire has a real bond with Jodie. It’s amazing, after the state he was in,’ says Rachel.

‘Do you ride?’ I ask her dad. He and Rachel exchange glances. She pulls a face at me.

‘He sat on a horse once,’ she says. ‘Facing the
wrong way.’

‘I prefer things with engines that do as they’re told,’ Mark laughs.

The drive into town takes about ten minutes. I’m sorry when it’s over – the three of us have been chatting and laughing the whole time. Mark drops Rachel and me outside Mamma Lemon’s pizza restaurant, toots and waves goodbye.

‘He’s really nice, your dad,’ I tell Rachel.

‘Yeah, although Mum doesn’t always agree when he’s making loads of noise in the garage. He’s got this thing for old cars.’ Rachel is looking at the menu behind the glass. ‘Mmmm, smell those pizzas,’ she says, taking my arm. ‘Make sure you leave room for the chocolate brownies, Jode. They’re as big as the plates, no kidding.’ She demonstrates with her hands.

‘Thanks for everything today,’ I tell her as we open the door.

‘I really admire what you’re doing,’ she replies, unexpectedly. ‘You should be proud of yourself.
Samphire’s a big challenge, but he’s going to be incredible by the time you’ve finished with him.’

‘I hope so,’ I say.

‘I know so,’ Rachel states. ‘Now, it’s my treat, remember, so you can have anything you want. It’s not every day you climb Everest.’

Chapter Fifteen

I’m flying, following the curve of the hill, the September wind blowing with full force into my face. I lean further into it, feeling tears on my cheeks and autumn air rushing to the back of my throat when I breathe. I am curled, aerodynamic, focused on the landscape around me. To my left, acres of red-orange bracken and spindly gorse, as far as the eye can see. To my right, tall conifers, standing to attention in carefully tended rows. Ahead, a path leading towards mighty oaks and majestic beech trees, the gatekeepers to the wild woods.

Beneath me, my amazing Samphire, galloping with a fleetness of foot through this ancient forest. He follows the path instinctively, his hooves pounding softly into moss and leaf mulch. I feel electric with his
energy – glowing. From a distance, we are probably a luminous moving beacon; a UFO.

We pass a pair of ponies grazing. We startle a muddy pig, rooting among the ferns.

‘Hello, Mr Pig!’ I call to him.

He grunts crossly and scuffles away over toadstools with colourful heads like upturned tea saucers.

Samphire and I leave the open ground, with its amber foliage, and enter the woods, which are streaked with bright shafts of sun. There’s mist between the trees. Water droplets plop from the branch of a dead beech tree, standing silver-grey and ghostly, shocked by the lightning bolt that sapped its life in a second.

Deeper and deeper, we move into the Forest. Samphire’s hooves are thudding into mud; his pace slows to a careful canter. He needs no encouragement to continue. He senses there is a destination.

I sometimes dream about the place we’re coming to, the secret space Dad and I discovered two years ago, just before he died. It was the result of one of
his famous ‘short cuts’, which took us miles out of our circular ride. It’s sacred to me now. And bringing Samphire here is an initiation, perhaps for us both. I feel driven to do it. I don’t know what to expect – the spirit of Dad to be waiting? A glimpse of the fairies with owl-faces who live in the wood? (Nice one, Dad!)

The light ahead is almost dazzling. We’re nearly there. The trees give way to a clearing about the size of a large paddock, with banks sloping down to a lake as still as a looking-glass. Samphire slows to a stop and steam from his coat starts to mingle with the mist around us. When I look at the water, there’s a reflection of us staring back.

It feels like I’m looking at the present and into the future, to all the fantastic days ahead with this beautiful horse. I see no trace of sadness in our watery images, no ripples of the past.

‘They’re behind us now, boy, those bad times,’ I say, as I dismount and loop the reins over Samphire’s head. I can see a level spot where he can drink. We walk
by the lake’s edge, accompanied by a frog, hopping from leaf to leaf amongst the foliage. A fallen tree trunk lies by the water. Samphire arches his neck over it and sniffs the unknown substance on the other side. His nostrils blow several times before he drinks. I sit astride the tree, remembering.

A shiver passes up my spine. There’s a rustle to our right, a startled face, then the gleam of a brown coat in sunlight, darting away in swift leaps.

‘It’s just a deer, Sam,’ I tell him. ‘Nothing to be afraid of.’